Tiger's Eye
by elzebrook
Summary: Jack couldn't believe his luck. He'd come here, intending to rile up the marital bliss a bit, and instead found the woman of his dreams lonely, single, desperate for affection and—most importantly—drunk. Post AWE JE, M for language and alcoholic smut.
1. Of Old Friends and Much Rum

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elizabeth Swann, William Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time

**A/N**: Caveat, caveat! This is my FF debut, so please be kind. Between you and me and the dogs, this is a piece of absolute fluff that keeps me from falling asleep in my government class and richly deserves its subtitle as Attack of the Adverbs, but I hope I do not flatter myself that it is entertaining. The smut I promised is going to be a few chapters on, but the language is in this one.

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Chapter One: Of Old Friends and Much Rum

Jack dropped lightly through the window, hoping his old friends were already in bed. The looks on their faces would be priceless. He snickered softly to himself and lit the lamp, turning the wick up higher.

"Rise and shine, my lovelies! Old Uncle Jack has come for a visit!" He shined the light on the bed.

No one was in it.

"Bugger," he muttered quietly. He did so like to make dramatic entrances. Well, maybe they were downstairs, or out. If they were out, he would just make himself at home, maybe try out the conjugal bed…he could just see them walking in, ready to have a roll in the hay…Elizabeth's lovely eyes widening in shock at finding him in their bedroom… He grinned evilly and sat down on the bed, bouncing up and down to test the mattress. Down. Living in the lap of luxury, was Will. Lap of someone else, too, no doubt. Lucky bastard.

Jack blew out the lamp and sat on the bed for a moment, blinking until his eyes re-adjusted to the dark. He walked quietly out of the room, and down the stairs, listening for any sound of life. Still nothing. Good God, where was everyone?

There was a metallic crash from upstairs, followed by muted but vicious swearing. Jack's head jerked up. A few moments later, the noise was followed by a few muffled strands of song.

"…and really bad eggs…drink up, me hearties…yo bloody fucking ho…"

Jack grinned. He knew that voice. He bounded back up the stairs. Light leaked out from the threshold of a door, and he threw it open.

"Elizabeth, darling, don't you know it's bad luck to sing about pirates? They might hear you."

He grinned cheekily down at the girl. She was sitting slumped down in a chair at the table, her long legs stuck out in front of her. Several bottles of ambiguous alcohol open before her, a half empty glass of golden rum in her hand. Her lacy dressing gown was untied and muddy at them hem. Underneath she wore only cotton shift. She blinked muzzily up at him.

"Jack…What're you doing here?"

Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Not exactly the Elizabeth he was hoping for either…Well, one must persevere.

"Well, darling, I was hoping I might find dear William at home. I have a bit of a problem."

Elizabeth snorted.

"What else is new?" She gestured expansively around the room. "As you can see, _dear William_ is not at home. I am all by me onesies, Jack Sparrow. Just me and the rum".

She said it so bitterly that Jack raised an eyebrow. Had a spat, did they?

"And what, might I ask, are you doing with all that rum?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked morosely into her glass.

"I'm drowning my sorrows," she said, and tossed back the rest of the rum. "It's proving a lot more difficult than I expected."

Jack laughed.

"C'mon, love, what sorrows can you have?" He indicated the room. "You're living in the lap of luxury! With all the rum you can drink!"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow back at him.

"I think, Captain Sparrow, you truly underestimate how much rum I can drink".

This statement seemed to remind her of something and dropped her eyes and sniffled. Jack frowned. On closer inspection, she appeared to have a lot more sorrow than he thought. Her hair had bits of leaves and twigs in it and she looked like she had been crying. Under the table, her feet were bare and dried mud was flaking off of them.

"Elizabeth…" he started.

"It's Miss Swann, thank you," she said sharply. Jack blinked. Still?

"Miss Swann? I thought you'd be Mrs. Turner by now."

Elizabeth laughed, bitterly.

"No, Captain Sparrow, it's still Miss Swann. It's likely to remain so." She reached for the bottle. She looked from the bottle, to her empty glass, and back to the bottle.

"Oh, fuck it," she muttered, and took a swig from the bottle.

Jack studied her. He appeared to make up his mind about something, grabbed a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and looked at Elizabeth.

"Well, c'mon then," he said. "Spill."

Elizabeth blinked up at him, surprised.

"Tell Old Jack what's wrong, love."

Jack rested his eyes on her tawny gold head. With any luck, he would catch a glimpse of the sweet, vulnerable girl he'd fallen for years ago.

She glanced down at the table, then up into his eyes. They shone innocent concern at her. Drunk as she was, she wasn't fooled. She knew Jack. He wanted something, he always did. But damned if she knew what, and she was so desperate for someone, _anyone_ to talk to. She dropped her eyes, stared down meditatively at the golden rum, not really seeing. There would be a price to pay. She knew. But now…at the moment…it almost seemed worth it.

She raised the bottle to her lips. _I'm going to regret this…_she thought. She looked back at Jack. Luck had apparently deserted him for the night. A cold, angry woman stared at him now, hard from pain.

"Will left me," she said, her jaw set. Her expression told him if he said anything stupid, he would soon be without certain parts of his anatomy he was very fond of. His head, for instance.

"What?" he spluttered, hoping it didn't sound stupid. He liked his head. It worked, for the most part.

Apparently, his question wasn't stupid. She relaxed slightly and proffered the bottle. Jack took it, dumbly. He couldn't believe his good luck. He'd come here, intending to rile up the marital bliss a bit, and instead found the woman of his dreams lonely, single, desperate for affection and—most importantly—drunk.

"I know", Elizabeth continued. "It sounds ridiculous, after all we've been through together. But it's true."

Jack took a swig from the bottle, barely tasting it.

"When?" he asked. He passed the bottle back to Elizabeth. She took it.

"A week ago. He left me a note saying he was sorry, but I deserved someone who could love me fully and it wasn't him, what with his new "duties" and such. He said he had no right to tie me to a cursed man. Load of bullocks. What he meant was he'd fallen for someone else." She chugged some rum and passed the bottle back.

Jack arranged his face into what he hoped was a sympathetic expression. Inside, he was debating whether to kill Will or thank him. Maybe both.

"That's a bit harsh," he managed to say. "Who?" he asked, and took a swig.

Elizabeth fixed a baleful glare at the table. "Charles", she said darkly.

Jack choked.

"What?!" he sputtered.

Elizabeth looked up at him, her mouth twisting into a wry expression.

"Charles," she said again. "Apparently they met on a boat the _Dutchman_ was scavenging. Charles was neither dead nor dying, but after a few months on a ship without me, Will was ready to make exceptions. And…well, I'm sure you can guess the rest."

"What? When? How?" Jack trailed off, trying to wrap his head around this new information. Will was a ponce. Well, fancy that.

"I know", Elizabeth said. "Trust me, _I know_…" She relieved Jack of the rum and took a pull.

"I should've known from the hat," she said, gloomily. Jack focused on her again.

"What did you do?" he asked. "When you found out, I mean."

Elizabeth looked at him, surprised. "I…" she gave a little laugh. "I went for a walk. Up the hill. I watched the ship leave. Then I came back down and started drinking."

Actually, she'd walked up the hill, watched the ship leave, screamed until she was hoarse, cried for a few hours, and fallen asleep. She'd woken up sometime the next morning, walked home, set all Will's clothes on fire, and then started drinking. But she'd be damned before she told Jack that.

"Ah," said Jack. "That explains the mud. And the leaves."

Elizabeth looked confused.

"On your dressing gown, love. And in your hair." The girl in front of him still looked nonplussed. He reached out a hand, gently detached a leaf from her hair and held it in front of her.

"Oh," she said. She reached up a hand and tentatively ran it through her hair. A small shower of vegetation ensued. She laughed, somewhat hysterically.

"I'm sorry, I must look a fright," she said. "I haven't exactly been expecting company."

"No one blames you, love," said Jack, liberating the bottle and taking a drink.

"So," he said, after a moment. "All you've been doing for the past week is drinking?"

"Well…" said Elizabeth. "Yes, mostly. And sleeping. Or passing out, as the case may be. I think I stopped eating few days ago. It just didn't seem important, somehow…"

Jack looked into her exhausted, bewildered countenance and decided it was a very good time to start worrying.

"It's this house," Elizabeth continued. "Everything in it reminds me of—" Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. "Of Will. Of us. I mean…" She took a swig of another bottle and stared meditatively at the wall.

"I lost my maidenhead in this room to him" she stated, distantly.

Jack blinked. There was no way his Lizzie would say something like that. Either this wasn't his Lizzie, or something was very wrong indeed.

"Tell you what, love," he said, injecting false cheer into his words. She started, and looked at him like she'd forgotten he was there. She probably had. "Give me that bottle, go brush your hair and I'll take you out of this damned tomb and down to the beach, eh?"

He stood up, an offered her a hand. Elizabeth smiled up at him, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. She took his hand and stood up.

"I think I'd like that," she said, and fainted.

"Bugger," said Jack.


	2. Of Hangovers and Swimming

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elizabeth Swann, William Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time. 

**A/N:** Augh, sorry about the chapter splicing problems, mea culpa. It was late and I'm computer illiterate. Anyway, it's fixed. Thanks for putting up with my occasional idiocies. 

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Chapter Two: Of Hangovers and Swimming

Elizabeth opened her eyes. Bad idea. She shut them again. She tried to swallow. Another bad idea. Her mouth tasted like something small and furry had made a comfortable home in it, and then died. Urgh. She lay there for a few moments, wondering why she was thinking so slowly. She'd just made up her mind to go back to sleep and see if it was better when she woke up again, when a soft voice said "Elizabeth?"

She groaned unintelligibly and put a pillow over her head.

"I brought you some water."

That got her attention. She sat up. A wave of nauseous dizziness swirled around her and she lay back down again quickly, her eyes shut tight. The wave receded. A few moments later, she tried again, slower. It helped to keep her eyes closed so she couldn't see the world spinning. An arm appeared around her shoulders, supporting her.

"Here, drink this," said the voice. She risked slitting her eyes open. A cup appeared in front of her face. She took it, and drank. She opened her eyes a little wider.

"Jesus, it's bright," she said. "What the hell happened to me last night?"

Jack laughed, relieved. That sounded like the Lizzie he knew.

"You've been drunk for a week, love," he said.

"Oh," she said. She took another sip of the water. "Have I? That sounds stupid. I don't even like drink."

She looked up at Jack. "You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

Jack's eyes widened in surprise.

"Well…it's a little bit complicated…um…" He fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. Elizabeth watched him for a moment, and then looked around the room. It was her bedroom. A piece of paper on her desk caught her eye. She couldn't read it, but she recognized the handwriting as Will's. And she knew what it said.

"Oh, damn," she whispered, as the memories of the past week rushed back into her head, jostling for attention. She turned back to Jack.

"Never mind, I remember," she said. She turned back to Jack. He looked relieved. "You never told me why you were here."

"Well, darling, I would have, but your problems eclipse mine at the moment, so let's just concentrate on you," he said, wriggling out of the question smoothly. "How about breakfast?"

Elizabeth thought of tea and toast.

"Breakfast sounds…" she started—_and gently wobbling sunny-side up eggs, and sausages dripping with fat and…oh, God—_She swallowed, trying not to retch "horrible at the moment. But thanks anyway."

Images of glistening eggs and bacon and fried potatoes rose before her eyes. Swallowing wasn't helping anymore.

"Excuse me for a moment," she said, and ran over to the window. Jack watched her sympathetically from the bed. Poor girl. He knew exactly how she felt.

Elizabeth rinsed her mouth out and spat. Her teeth felt furry. She repressed the urge to gag again. She turned around to see Jack watching her with an odd expression on his face. She cleared her throat.

"Sorry," she said. "If you want breakfast, I'm afraid you'll have to make it yourself. I have vague memories of telling the servants to fuck off until further notice." She glanced around at the fading afternoon light. "What time is it anyway?"

"About five, I think. I only offered breakfast because that's all I can cook," he said. "I'll just, uh, leave you to, um…get dressed then, shall I?" He started for the door. Elizabeth looked down at herself. She was only wearing a cotton shift, which was, for all practical purposes, completely useless and rather transparent.

"Goddammit, Jack!" she yelled, flushing scarlet. He stopped just outside the door, one hand on the knob.

"D'you know, you look lovely when you blush, love," he said, and grinned wickedly.

Elizabeth's glass bounced harmlessly off the closed door and onto the carpet.

About an hour and a half later, Elizabeth gingerly made her way around empty bottles and upset furniture to the kitchen. Her scalp ached. She made a mental note to never, ever go without brushing her hair for a week again. Ever. After she'd washed it, it'd taken forty minutes to get all the twigs out. She was dressed in the boy's clothes she'd "borrowed" a few years back. When she'd opened the door to her wardrobe, the rich brocade of the gowns glittered so ominously at her she decided to leave Governor Swann's daughter at home and simply be Elizabeth today. Her father was gone and Will—her heart gave a twinge at the thought of him—Will wasn't in a position to care anymore. And Jack…she didn't give a damn what Jack thought. He'd probably have something clever to say about it, but nothing could put her in a worse mood, so it didn't really matter. He'd have something clever to say no matter what she was wearing.

Feeling a little better than she had for the past few days—at least more sober—she walked into the kitchen. Jack was sitting at the table, eating fried everything. Elizabeth swallowed. It glistened menacingly at her. She walked out.

A few moments later, she walked in again and got herself a glass of water, determinedly not looking at the food. Her expression dared Jack to comment. He debated about it for a moment, before deciding he liked the way his body was arranged. He quietly finished his food, feeding the last bit of bacon to the ever-present kitchen cat, and took his dishes to the washing tub.

Elizabeth sat down at the table. She looked pale and sad, but considerably saner than she had last night.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked, suddenly.

"Well…" said Jack, pouring milk into a saucer for the cat. "You passed out at around two and woke up at five…a good sixteen hours."

"Ah."

Jack sat down across the table from her. The cat jumped up onto his lap. Unconsciously, he petted it. Elizabeth watched his hands. She found herself wondering what they would feel like, how they would touch her…She blinked, bit her lip. Where the hell had that thought come from? Her nerves were overwrought. Wonderful, her first attack of the feminine vapors…This was not a good time to have another mental breakdown, she told herself sternly. Especially when Jack was watching her with that slightly amused expression she found so irritating.

"Why are you here, Jack?" she asked, as much from curiosity as to stop him looking at her. Jack contrived to look affronted and slightly hurt.

"Well, I can leave, if you'd rather…" he said. He knew perfectly well she could see through him, but he wasn't going to stop. He had a reputation to maintain. She looked exasperated. Good.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Jack."

"Aye, I do." He put the cat on the floor. "C'mon, then."

Elizabeth looked up at him, surprised. Lord, her eyes were amazing. Even when he knew she felt like death, she was still so beautiful. Damn the girl. She stood up.

"Where're we going?"

"Well, I promised you the beach, didn't I?" Jack smiled at her. Elizabeth felt an uninvited smile stealing across her own face.

"Aye. You did."

He picked up a haversack from the floor.

"Let's go then."

Jack led her through back alleys, twists, turns until they reached a completely unmarked stretch of jungle. Elizabeth looked at the wall of greenery with trepidation. Undaunted, Jack plunged through the leaves. Elizabeth sighed, and followed.

"Jack? I don't mean to be rude…"

"Yes, love?"

"Do you even know where we're going?"

"Yes, love."

"Oh, good."

Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by bird calls and Elizabeth nearly falling over a tree root. Jack grinned at the jungle in front of him, and waited quietly for her to recover. After she picked herself up she said "I don't suppose you'd want to tell me, would you?"

"La Playa de los Secretos," he said, hacking at a creeper. "Known only to small children, who are probably getting into bed by now, and pirates, who are all on board sleeping it off, and neither will come out if they know what's good for them."

"Ah," said Elizabeth.

"The next part's a bit tricky," he said, as he slipped between two trees. "So you might want to give me your hand."

"I am perfectly capable of walking on my own," she said, following him out. He turned to her, grinning, a sudden breeze lifting his dreadlocks

"Yes, love, but how are you at flying?"

Elizabeth stopped short, her toes a few inches from the edge of a cliff. She looked out at an immense stretch of water, the setting sun flaming orange, red and gold across the gentle waves.

"Oh…" she breathed. "It's beautiful." Jack looked sideways at her.

"Aye, that it is. It's also a long drop, so if you don't mind…" He offered his hand. She took it obediently, and followed when he started up again. Three yards later, they found a path leading down to the beach. _If one could call it a path…_thought Elizabeth, eyeing the thin ribbon cutting straight down the cliff with apprehension.

"People actually let their children play here?" she asked.

"Oh, I was in far worse places when I was a wee lad," said Jack, skidding down the path. Elizabeth followed in a series of awkward hops. By the time they got down, a gibbous moon was rising, the ocean fading from gold to silver, fire to ice. Elizabeth sank down on the sand, mesmerized by the sparkling rise and fall. Jack rummaged around in the pack and handed her a chunk of bread and an apple.

"Eat," was all he said, and was off.

A while later he sat back on his haunches and surveyed his handiwork. A driftwood fire burned green and blue and orange, a respectable woodpile within easy reach. He turned back towards his Lizzie where she sat wraithlike on the sand, watching the sea. Apart from eating the bread and apple, she hadn't moved. This would not do. He sashayed up to her and nudged her with a toe. She looked up.

"C'mon, Miss Swann. Up, up."

She got to her feet, and then staggered against him. He sighed theatrically.

"Must I do everything myself?" He picked her up. Ye gods, she weighed almost nothing! _Food_, he thought. _Lots and lots of food. _He carried her toward the water.

"Jack, what are you doing?" she asked, coming out of her trance. He grinned wickedly, the moonlight glinting off his gold teeth.

"Jack, don't you dare!" she said, squirming, her voice rising. He held her tighter as he strode into the water.

"Jack, put me down this instant!" she shrieked. He carried her a few more steps.

"As you wish, Lady," he said.

"Jack, you—" she yelled. He dumped her unceremoniously into the water. She surfaced, coughing a little, glaring at him through straggling hair.

"You utter bastard," she finished. He looked her up and down, his grin widening. She looked down, the moon turning her rising blush to a dull grey as she realized what had started as a decent shirt was now a transparent one. She splashed him.

"Easy, love," he said, holding up his hands in protest.

"I'll show you easy," she snapped. She launched herself at him, threw one arm around his neck and hooked a leg behind his knees, kicking his legs out from under him. He landed with a satisfying splash.

"Hah," she said smugly as he surfaced. He smiled.

"What?"

"It's nice to have you back," he said. "You'd gone over three waking hours without trying to kill me. I was getting worried."

Elizabeth splashed him again and swam away. Jack grinned and followed her.


	3. Of Drunken Eloquence and Literature

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Elizabeth Swann, William Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time. Neither do I own the poetry of Tennyson, although I sometimes I wish I did...

**A/N: **Before anyone says anything, yes, I am perfectly aware that Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poetry was much after POTC's timeline, but I am an artist and we are allowed creative license occasionally. Anyway, I like that quote (It's from "Idylls of the King", for those who are interested). And I swear there will be smut in the next chapter. And probably more smut after that. Highly detailed smut, if I get my way.

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Chapter Three: Of Drunken Eloquence and Literature

"Well, that was fun," Elizabeth said, shaking her dripping hair out of her face and accepting another hunk of bread and a bottle from Jack. She sat down by the fire. He took a long pull from a bottle of his own and sat down too.

"Good. I had to get you out of that mortuary somehow," he said, and cursed himself as her eyes darkened.

"My grave is like to be my wedding bed," she murmured.

"You know," said Jack lightly, "that play has nothing to do with this."

"No?"

"No. For one thing, although Romeo and Mr. Nancy Turner are both idiots, Romeo has the decency to remove himself from the known universe and not subject everyone to his whinging any longer. For another, neither of us have daggers."

Elizabeth laughed quietly.

"Brings back memories, this," she said after a moment. She gestured toward the fire and the bottle.

"Yes it does, doesn't it?" Jack mused. "Although this time my ship is but a few yards beyond that bend and that bottle is emphatically _not_ rum."

"Oh? And what is it then?"

"Water. You, dear lady, have had enough rum."

"Elizabeth snorted. "You're a fine one to talk," she said, eyeing the bottle he was drinking.

"I? I assure you, I am never as think as you drunk I am." He smiled lopsidedly at her. "Anyway, this is wine."

She snorted again, and took a sip from the water.

"So tell me, Jack Sparrow, what brings you to Port Royal?"

"Oh, this'n'that," he said.

"C'mon Jack, you owe me something. I poured out my deepest darkest secrets to you last night."

Jack raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth moved closer.

"Just one secret?" she wheedled. He laughed.

"All right, love. Ask."

"Ask? Oh." She stared out at the sea, the bottle of water dangling from her fingers. She turned back, capturing him with her honey colored eyes.

"Have you ever been in love, Jack Sparrow?" she asked, soft, wistful. Her eyes held him, pinning him like the butterflies she inspired in him. She can't possibly know, he thought. Well…I did try to marry her once, but that was years ago. She probably doesn't even remember. Anyway, she never knew I loved her. Love her.

"Love?" he said out loud. "I'm always in love."

"Not with your boat," she said. "Or the sea, either. I mean, someone who can talk and breathe and well…you know…"

"You know, eh?" said Jack, waggling his eyebrows at her. Elizabeth chucked her bread crust at him. He caught it.

"Calypso could talk and breathe and…you know," he continued, tearing off a piece. He studied it. "Very good at the you know, as I recall."

Elizabeth gave him a Look. "That was not love."

Jack smiled and ducked his head. "No, it wasn't."

"Well?" she prompted.

"Well what?"

"Have you?'

"Have I…oh yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I have been in love," he said, and popped the crust into his mouth. Elizabeth pulled herself cross-legged and faced him.

"With who? When?'

"What is it with women and gossip?" Jack muttered around the bread. "You all come alive."

"Men are worse and you know it. Answer the question." Jack swallowed and shrugged.

"Just a girl. Well, not 'just'. Nothing 'just' about her." He snuck a glance at Elizabeth. Safe, so far.

"Beautiful, she was. Is, probably. It was years ago now."

"What happened?"

"She loved someone else. For a while, I had hope, but…" He shrugged again. "Like most hope it proved false. It was probably for the best. She was never exactly…kind to me."

Elizabeth's face softened. "I'm sorry."

Jack flashed a smile. "I never said I didn't deserve it."

"What'd she look like?' Elizabeth asked. Innocent curiosity, Jack thought, looking at her face. Such a pretty face, he mused. He wondered what it looked like when she made love, heated and flushed from passion, and quickly took a drink to cover his confusion. It was alright to tell her, he thought, or at least the wine thought. She doesn't see herself like I see her. Even bloody poncey Will didn't see her like I see her.

"The Lily Maid of Astolat," he murmured.

"Tennyson," said Elizabeth. "Will the surprises never cease."

"God, I hope not," Jack said. "Anyway. She was beautiful, as I said. A fair bloom of English womanhood, or at least she would've been, if she'd stayed in England. Spent too much time in the sun to be a lily. She was more like a piece of topaz, or this stone they call tiger's eye because of the way the color shifts and shines. She shimmered when the sun hit her. She had…unusual eyes. She wasn't traditionally beautiful, not really. She tended more toward lean and lithe than curvy, like a cat." He smiled faintly. "Yes, a cat. Very feline, she was. She seemed to have a very tightly contained passion, like a wild thing lying in wait behind a veneer of domesticity. She always seemed to be watching the world from behind the bars of a cage, half-hoping, half-afraid to be let out." He stopped, aware that Lizzie was staring at him with a dumbfounded expression. He raised an eyebrow.

"She didn't love you?' Elizabeth asked, sounding strangled. "Did you ever talk to her like that?"

Jack laughed. "It's the wine. Wine of kings and bloody well-paid merchants, this," he said, holding up the bottle. "Not pirates. Makes me forget meself, it does. Makes me loquaciously eloquent. I become prone to doing things like quoting Tennyson and using words like 'loquacious.'"

Elizabeth smiled, the sobered. "You must have loved her very much. Wine alone does not make lover's speeches."

"I did. Still do, 'smatter of fact." He looked at Elizabeth, arranged his face into a nostalgic expression and hoped she would think he was staring at some inner vision. Her face was soft in the firelight, the flames making her hair shimmer like the stone that so reminded him of her.

"Funny thing," he added, knowing he was taking a risk. The wine urged him on. "I asked her to marry me once."

Elizabeth looked at him, sympathy in her eyes. "She said no," she said, unnecessarily. Jack nodded.

"I wonder why," Elizabeth mused. I don't know, Jack thought, biting his tongue to keep from saying the words aloud. Why did you?

"I mean, I know she was in love with someone else," she continued, "but still. You're so…"

"I'm so what?"

"You're so…" she turned her palms up and shrugged. "Well, you. I wonder if she regrets it."

I don't know, thought Jack. Do you? The fire crackled, suddenly oddly loud.

Jack realized he'd forgotten to bite his tongue.

"Ah," said Elizabeth, and smiled he smug, triumphant smile feared by pirates everywhere.

"Damn," said Jack.


	4. Of Fantasies Lived and More Rum

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elizabeth Swann, William Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time. 

**A/N: **SEX!! And nothing else, besides a lot of euphemistic terms I appropriated from bad romance novels. There, you've been warned. I swear the next chapter has a small amount of plot and/or explanation.

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Chapter Four: Of Fantasies Lived and More Rum

"Go on then," he said, bitterly, after a moment. "Have a good laugh at old Jack. Everyone else does."

"I'll only laugh if you do something incredibly stupid right now," said Elizabeth, still smiling.

"Like what?"

"Like not kiss me."

"Like not…what?"

She sighed theatrically. "Must I do everything myself?"

She leaned toward him, stopping an inch from his face. Her tiger's eyes held his chocolate ones. "Well?" she breathed.

I'm dreaming, he though. His hands moved of their own accord to cup her face, tangle in her hair. Dreaming! yelled a voice in his head.

Well, only one way to make sure, he thought, and closed the miniscule gap between them.

No, not dreaming after all.

She leaned against him with a little sigh, a relaxing of muscles she didn't even know were tense. Her lips tasted of all things holy, bread and salt and wine. He swept his tongue along their parting, asking permission. Her tongue charged out to meet his, grappled and won. It should be impossible, observed the voice, for a woman to ravish like that. But his Lizzie was no ordinary woman. Her hands skimmed up his back to thread in his dreadlocks and flutter like birds on his neck. Jack must have made a noise, because she smiled and she laughed softly against his lips. Her mouth withdrew and she sat back.

"Jesus," he said hoarsely. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

She flashed a wicked grin.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said, moving forward to straddle his legs. She wrapped her hands around his head, pulling him closer. Her mouth hovered just above his own. "Can you do better?" she whispered.

"Oh," he said, his eyes hooded with amusement. "Is that a challenge?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but he gave her no time to respond. His mouth closed over hers, no longer asking for entry but taking what he wanted. She moaned, her hips starting to move against his growing arousal. One hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other around her waist, and he pulled her down on her back, throwing one leg over her to keep her in place. He drank from her mouth like it was the finest wine, his hand tugging at her shirt until it came free from her breeches. His mouth moved from hers to her neck and collarbone, his hand sliding up her shirt to skim her breasts. She gasped his name. He tweaked a nipple and she arched against him.

"Please," she panted. He moved downward, tugging at her buttons until her shirt lay open, her small breasts exposed. He looked at her, flushed pink from arousal. She looked back at him, anxiously, starting to say something, but he cut her off with another kiss.

"You are so beautiful," he said, his hands skimming her sides. "So, so beautiful."

He bent his head to take one pink nipple in his mouth, then the other, swirling his tongue around and nipping her gently. She bucked toward him and moaned as one of his hands skimmed the waistband of her breeches.

"Oh God, Jack, please."

He kissed his way down her body, more drunk off the sound of his name on her lips than all the wine in the world. He reached her breeches and tugged them off, kissing the inside of one thigh, then the other. Her skin was so soft, he thought as he worked his way upwards, it was like kissing the wings of butterflies. He reached the damp and secret place between her thighs, and flicked his tongue over her. She arched toward him, cried out his name, her hands gripping his head. He continued his ministrations as Elizabeth gasped and writhed beneath him. She could feel the tension mounting. She knew her moans were getting louder, but she was too far gone to care. Jack ginned to himself as her cries reached fever pitch and she suddenly bucked beneath him, her climax wracking her body. He went gentler now, slowing down as she finally shuddered and lay still, panting. He made his way back up her body, kissing here and there to soothe and comfort.

"Now tell me, love," he said taking her in his arms, "did the whelp ever do that for you?" His grin was smug, triumphant. Elizabeth wriggled closer to him, planting a kiss on his collarbone.

"Yes, actually," she said. "Although not as successfully, I might add."

"Hmph," said Jack as she kissed him. She laughed and pushed him down on his back, straddling his waist.

"You know," he said, as she trailed little kissing nips down his open shirtfront, "I don't think much of your choice of previous partners."

She snorted, tugging at his buttons. "Oh, yes, and you have the right to talk. Your women, Captain Sparrow, are usually a dime a dozen. Literally. Now shut up and help me get your pants off."

Jack complied. How could a man say no to an order like that? His clothes soon joined Elizabeth's in a rumpled pile a few feet away. She stood up and stepped back a bit, surveying her prize. He was lean and muscular, his skin tanned a uniform golden brown that could only come from swimming naked as often as possible. His numerous scars and tattoos only added to his appeal, tangible proof of the danger hinted at in his dark eyes and golden smile. And while he lacked an inch or two of Will's height, he more than made up for it in other places. He was, all in all, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And the lazy smile that stole cat-like across his face informed her that he knew it, too.

"Like what you see, love?" he purred. She nodded.

"Don't move," she commanded, and turned away towards the fire. He watched the light dance on her slim body. By God, she had a lovely arse. He grinned and licked his lips, the taste of her still lingering there. She grabbed his pack and dumped it out on the sand, sorting through various foodstuffs and bottles.

"What're you doing?" he called.

"Looking for the—ah there it is." She pounced on a bottle and trotted back towards him. She stopped and stood over him, hip cocked, bottle in hand. He eyed it apprehensively.

"I though we agreed you'd had enough rum."

"Be quiet," she said. "I've wanted to do this since that night on the island." She took the cork in her teeth and pulled it out, straddling him.

"Open your mouth and shut your eyes," she ordered. Jack raised an eyebrow, but obeyed. Elizabeth poured a generous measure of rum into her mouth, then bent down and kissed him. The sweet rum flowed into Jack's mouth, assaulting his senses, accompanied by the sweeter taste of her. Her mouth withdrew and the bottle appeared at his lips.

"Drink," she whispered, and kissed him again when the bottle left.

"Keep your eyes closed," she murmured, kissing his neck. He did, not wanting to disturb the magic of her mouth on his skin. Elizabeth snuck a glance at his face and grinned. She tipped the bottle slowly and a small stream flowed into the hollow of Jack's collarbone. She bent her head and lapped at it like a cat, sucking at the skin until the taste of sugar was gone. Jack gasped, his breathing roughening. Elizabeth smiled to herself, glorying in the unexpected sense of power. She tipped the bottle again, filling the hollow on the other side, and the gunshot scars below it. Whoever invented cups was a cold, unfeeling wretch, she reflected. Her tongue tentatively swept the ragged edges of the scar. A moan escaped Jack's lips. Emboldened, she sucked the rum out of the hollows, the sweetness giving way to the seasalt taste of his skin. Her mouth moved lower still, to encircle a nipple and bite down hard as he groaned and arched toward her. She laughed huskily and the warmth of her left suddenly. He opened his mouth to protest, but then felt her somewhere else entirely. His eyes flew open to the lovely sight of Lizzie easing herself onto his shaft. She gave a little moan and began to move, her eyes looking straight into his.

"You've dreamed about this, haven't you?" she whispered. "On the long, lonely nights at sea…" She rose and fell above him like the sea herself.

"Yes," he groaned. In his fevered dreams, he was usually the one on top, but he wasn't about to complain now. His mind centered around one thought, to touch as much of her as he possibly could. One hand circled around her waist and the other found her secret places and the sensitive nub that hid there. Her rocking accelerated, the friction intensifying until Jack thought he would faint from pure sensation. She arched, her head flung back, his fingers eliciting cries like honeyed wine from her throat.

"Ah, God, Jack!" she screamed as her body began to shudder and fall. He reared up to meet her, finding his pleasure seconds after her own. For a moment, they hung there in bliss, outside of time, and then dropped onto the sand, wrapped in each other's arms.


	5. Of Confessions and Propositions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elizabeth Swann, William Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time.

**A/N: **Yeah, peccavi, peccavi, sorry for the wait. This degenerates into mush for the last two chapters, and worse, mush sans sex, because my sex muse has gone gallivanting off elsewhere. Osuna really is (or was) a dukedom, and Téllez-Girón really is (or was) the family name, although I have no idea whether or not there was a Juan Diego or if he died, or if Osuna is still officially a dukedom. I did an extremely minimal amount of research. Cheers to anyone who gets the joke, though. For those of you who aren't linguistic addicts like me, the explanation for the bits not in English is at the bottom of the page. For some reason, it won't let me do proper footnotes.

* * *

Chapter Five: Of Confessions and Propositions

After a while, she kissed him again, deep and slow.

"Where on earth did you learn how to kiss like that?" he asked again after a moment. She smiled wickedly.

"You still wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me" he said. Her smile widened.

"Anamaria," she said, and laughed at his expression.

"What?!"

"It was late. There was rum. Will was being an ass. Not much different from now, really. Except I'm a better kisser." She flashed the grin again. "And some fundamental anatomical differences."

"One would hope," Jack said. She laughed low in her throat and ducked her head to brush her lips across his hand. He swallowed. He'd no idea hands had so many nerve endings. He raised his other hand to tangle in her hair.

"Tell me love, it's not exactly the same is it?"

"Mmm," she said, nibbling delicately at one of his fingers. "Why?"

"Because—stop that, I can't think—I would like to know if this is going anywhere or—" She engulfed his finger in her mouth prodded gently at the webbing with her tongue. He gasped and stifled a moan. She released his hand and looked up at him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Or what?"

"Or if we're just being silly," he finished, somewhat lamely. He changed position to hide his growing…erm…excitement. She pulled herself up onto her knees and moved forward, straddling him. So much for hiding.

"Well, I don't know, are we? You said some pretty silly things earlier."

He leaned back, affronted.

"I? I was being perfectly serious."

She blinked, backed off his lap.

"You were?"

"Yes, love." He paused. "You couldn't tell?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"I glitter in the sunshine?"

"I am a bit drunk, love, in my defense. I told you it was the wine."

She looked down, biting her lip.

"I thought you were just trying to seduce me."

"Oh, I was, love," he said cheerfully. She looked up at him, confused. "But that doesn't mean I wasn't being honest."

"You mean it, then?"

"Yes," said Jack, simply.

"You…you love me?"

"Yes," he said, wondering why she looked so unhappy about it. She eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't know if I should believe you. Every time I do, you turn out to be lying."

Ah, so that was the problem. He opened his mouth to protest that everytime she didn't, he was telling the truth, and then stopped.

"Actually you have a point. In all fairness, you killed me in cold blood once."

She gave him a Look.

"I know I more or less deserved it, but still. And you lied too. You told me you weren't sorry."

She smiled a little and nodded in acquiescence. "I did, yes. But I still don't believe you."

He sighed in frustration and turned his face seaward, watching the rise and fall of the moonlit waves as though seeking inspiration. Elizabeth studied his profile. He was beautiful, but lbeautiful like a wild thing, quick and graceful in a way that Will never was. And funnier and smarter. And a dishonest, self-serving cad who loves rum more than bread and freedom more than both and is quite possibly an escapee from Bedlam. She sighed. But he was so beautiful, and she so lonely and she so wanted to believe him.

He turned to her, his face serious and wistful and a little bit sad. He passed a hand over his hair and made a valiant attempt at a smile.

"I know of no oath I could make that would possibly convince you save one, and even of that I am doubtful. But…" he shrugged. "Well, _ma'alesh. __Todos están en los manos de Dios_."

"I swear on the soul of my ship that I love you, that I have since that morning on the island when you burnt all the rum, but I only realized it when you killed me. And I swear that I will love you beyond the day I die, far beyond. I will love you until the day nothing in the universe knows the meaning of the word, and then I will love you wordlessly."

While he spoke, South England slipped from his voice, a threadbare coat from an Adonis. Elizabeth watched as the rest of Captain Jack Sparrow slipped with it; the laughing madness, the drunken slur, the permanent glint of dishonest devilry in his eyes all melted away, leaving only a man with a slight Latin lilt to his voice and a beautiful face that had looked on sorrow somewhere.

"And I tell you this not as Captain Jack Sparrow," he continued, "nor as Don Juan Diego Téllez-Girón, Duke of Osuna, but only as a man, offering up his heart to the woman he loves, and asking for hers in return."

Jack stopped. Every defense he had constructed, ever pretense he had kept for the past twenty-one years, he had just blasted through. _Oh please_, he prayed. _I've never asked for anything else before._ For a long moment Elizabeth said nothing.

"Oh, Jack," she whispered finally. Braced for the worst, he forced himself to look at her. Her topaz eyes glowed.

"You've always had it."

He opened his mouth to speak, or sing, or laugh aloud with joy, but she twined her arms around his neck and stopped his mouth with her own. They tumbled onto the sand.

LATER…

Jack lay on his back, watching the firelight dance on his Lizzie's—_his_ Lizzie's—hair as she traced idle patterns with her fingertips on his skin.

"Don Juan Diego Téllez-Girón de Osuna, eh?" she asked, a sly smile stealing across her face.

"Mmm…only for about two weeks, actually. Well, Juan Diego for eighteen years, but the Don didn't last long. That's my younger brother, the last time I checked."

"However did you manage that?" Elizabeth asked, sounding slightly impressed. Jack grinned at her.

"I died."

Elizabeth blinked. "What, the time I—" she began.

"No, love, not that time. About fifteen years before that time." Jack smiled again as she raised an eyebrow.

"Seven years is actually a short time, if you love what you do," he said. Elizabeth shook her head and smiled.

"Never cease to amaze me," she said.

"I shall endeavor," he replied. He squinted down the length of his torso at her.

"I would be much obliged, though, now that you know my "true identity", as it were, if you could keep it to yourself. I don't much fancy being dragged off and shut up in that musty old castle and forced to work out finances and little bits of paper. Lording isn't that much fun, you know."

Elizabeth smiled cheekily up at him. "I shall endeavor."

He laughed, and pulled her up to kiss him.

LATERER…

"I have a proposition for you," said Jack the next morning. Elizabeth looked up from repacking the haversack and raised an eyebrow at him. "And no, it is not the propositon you think. I have proposed that proposition to you, and you have answered it, and if you would like a different outcome to the answering of said proposition, it is your turn to propose."

Elizabeth nodded. "Fair enough. What proposition is it now?"

"How would you like to be co-Captain of the _Pearl_?"

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open.

"I…you…what?"

"I mean what I say, lass. Your instincts are as good as mine, and you're a better leader—a better person—than I am. And face it, love, there's nothing left for you here, and everything for you out there." He waved a hand at the ocean. "Also," he continued, flashing a golden smile "the rest of the crew might get jealous if you, as a crew member, sleep in the Captain's quarters while the rest of them repose in hammocks, so I figured I'd avoid that spat altogether."

"Oh, so it's just assumed I'm coming with you then. Good to know I have control of my life, I must say," Elizabeth said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Well, you are."

Elizabeth looked away, rolling her eyes.

"C'mon, love," said Jack softly. "You feel the tides in your blood, and the wind in your soul, and when there's nothing between you and the sea but deck, nothing between you and the sky but sails, nothing between you and the horizon but your own shadow, you can hear the heart of the _Pearl_ singing, same as your heart, and mine. You belong with her, and with me." He reached out to touch her hair softly, trace her jaw line with a fingertip.

"C'mon, love," he whispered again. "What say you?"

Elizabeth turned to him, her tiger's eyes guarded, unreadable. She studied him for a long moment. Finally, she took a breath in and said, "If I'm Captain, and the only woman aboard, won't that technically mean you'll be sleeping in _my_ quarters?"

Jack grinned. "Co-captain, love, co-captain. And entitled as you are to luxury by virtue of your femininity, my captaining experience renders that point moot. We'll just have to share the quarters." He stuck out a hand. "Do we have an accord?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Jack looked at her, his face open and guileless, hand extended. She took it.

"I get the left side of the bed," she said.

"Done," said Jack, shaking her hand gladly. "Blast," he added as he realized what he'd just promised. "That's the side that actually has stuffing."

"I know," said Elizabeth, smiling at him. He looked at her sourly for a moment, and then shrugged.

"And, now, to business. Anything you'd like to take from your house?"

She pursed her lips. "Well…we could take the silver, and the jewels. The dresses would fetch a good price. And a mattress," she said, shooting him a grin. "As for the rest…some of the paintings are quite valuable. How's the market for furniture lately?"

He stared at her, his expression somewhere between admiration and consternation. She looked back at him.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just sound like more of a pirate than I ever have, that's all."

She shrugged. "All that stuff in the house belongs to the daughter of the late Governor Swann, but I'm the closest we'll find to that, so I'll dispose of it how I like. If I don't sell it, I'll leave it there for the town to pillage, or set fire to it all, or dump it overboard. I don't want it. It's not…mine."

Jack nodded, understanding in his eyes. He picked up the haversack.

"Well, we'd best go pillage before the town gets all the good stuff."

"Oh, I wouldn't say there's exactly a rush…" Elizabeth grinned and stood up, hip cocked. Jack immediately dropped the haversack.

"You know, I always liked your relaxed attitude towards—" Jack started.

"Shut up," said Elizabeth, and kissed him. They dropped to the sand.

* * *

Ok, so "ma'alesh" is this lovely Arabic word that means something like "oh well, never mind, it's not important"--It's essentially the verbal equivalent of a shrug. And "todos están en los manos de Dios" is Spanish for "all is in the hands of God." No, I don't know where Jack learned Arabic, as he is from Spain (according to me). And the religious reference is because he is Spanish, and once a Catholic, always a Catholic. It's not even a religion, really, it's a culture. And the reason he speaks in non-English is because multi-lingualism is trés sexy and…well, he's Captain Jack Sparrow. He must be as unrealistically cool as I can make him. 


	6. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elizabeth Swann, William Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time.

**A/N: **So this is it for this fic. There will assuredly be more Sparrabeth from me, although probably not these versions of Jack and Liz. I hope y'all enjoyed it.

* * *

Epilogue

The _Pearl_ sailed smoothly out of the harbor, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. It had been, quite possibly, the longest day of her life. After arguing with everyone from her father's solicitor, the housekeeper, and various members of Port Royal society down to the boot boy, she'd had to agree to take her father's old chef on as the cook for the _Pearl_ before he'd stop crying. Then she'd spent four hours overseeing the transfer of the valuable items from her father's house to the ship, because the crew were the type of people, who, when faced with packing a bag of food, would unfailingly put the peaches beneath pickle jars. And finally—_finally_—she was home. On her ship. Their ship, she amended, as Jack waltzed up to her.

"Now, Captain Swann," he said. "Do we have a heading?"

"Well, Captain Sparrow," she said. She turned in a slow circle, taking in every beautiful inch of horizon. "How about…that way."

She pointed toward an interesting cloud formation in a somewhat northwestern direction.

"Aye," said Jack. "That way it is. Gibbs!" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes, Cap'n?"

"Set sail in a general that way direction," said Jack, waving his hand vaguely toward the southeast.

"But Cap'n, you—"

"You heard me, Gibbs. Now," he said, turning back to look at Elizabeth, "Captain Swann and I are going to the Captain's quarters. We are not to be disturbed, hear? We've got some serious…er…captainy things to do. Maps and whatnot."

Elizabeth looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Oh yes. Maps. Very important things, maps."

They started off toward the cabin.

"I don't even think I can actually read a map," she said, sotto voce.

"How disappointing," Jack replied, opening the door for her. "I suppose I'll just have to teach you then."

He shut the door behind them. Elizabeth turned around and pinned him to it, sliding a thigh between his legs.

"I bet there's a lot of things you're going to have to teach me," she murmured, brushing her lips across his.

"." said Jack. He cleared his throat. "Oh yes. Loads. Mountains." One of his arms snaked around her shoulders while the other stealthily made its way between their bodies and around her waist.

"For example," he continued, "I'm going to have to teach you the way around the ship." He gave a quick heave and twist and she was suddenly lifted off the floor and held captive in his arms. She shrieked in surprise. He took a step forward.

"Now, this here," he said, "this is the Captain's bed." He dumped her unceremoniously on it and dropped down next to her.

"And, this," he said, bending to kiss her and sliding one hand up her shirt, "this is what we do in the Captain's bed."

She laughed. "I have a feeling you'll have to spend a lot of time teaching me things."

"Oh, no doubt, love, no doubt. But it is my duty, as an experienced Captain, to impart my knowledge to the younger generations of seafaring—"

"Shut up," said Elizabeth, and pulled him down on top of her.


End file.
